


Our Hearts with You Do Stay

by miss_minnelli



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Truce of 1914, First Kiss, Historical, M/M, Romantic Gestures, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_minnelli/pseuds/miss_minnelli
Summary: Aziraphale puzzles over whether Crowley stopped the fighting on Christmas Eve 1914 and some kisses are shared.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: comfort fics





	Our Hearts with You Do Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoebox_addict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/gifts).



> This is my pinch hit for the Good Omens Holiday Swap for shoebox_addixt who requested Aziraphale and Crowley in a time period we didn't get to see in canon. They also requested no AUs and I believe this is show-canon compliant, if not completely canon compliant (I got the book for Christmas and haven't gotten to read yet!!).
> 
> The title is from a war song called Just a Song at Twilight. I also borrowed a few real newspaper articles and cited them at the end.
> 
> Without further ado, happy late holidays and enjoy!

_ 1914 _

The Great War made Aziraphale sadder than he’d been in several hundred years. The fighting was brutal and the conditions for the humans were absolutely terrible. Aziraphale, to his immense frustration, was strictly prohibited from meddling in human wars. Practically the only thing- person, actually- that could make him smile these days, was Crowley.

Dear, dear Crowley. How Aziraphale longed for him.

After their fight in 1862, Crowley had disappeared for a year and Aziraphale hadn’t dared reach out. For one, he didn’t know the demon’s whereabouts. He could be almost anywhere, unlike the angel who was almost always in his bookshop since its opening.

Aziraphale had patiently waited for Crowley to return, and quietly mourned the loss of time with the demon.

When Crowley had sauntered back into Aziraphale’s bookshop, and subsequently, his life, Aziraphale had been thrilled. Crowley was a bit colder and more distant than before, but Aziraphale had been happy to have him back no matter his mood. 

Aziraphale had realized a number of years before their fight that he was deeply entranced by Crowley, and had begun to interpret Crowley’s grand gestures as romantic, despite the fact that demon never said anything. But, after the fight, Crowley stopped performing elaborate schemes to make Aziraphale smile.

That isn’t to say he didn’t make Aziraphale smile. He did, almost constantly. He just didn’t go incredibly out of his way to make the angel’s day like he had in the past. Aziraphale understood. After all, he had refused to give Crowley that blasted holy water. (He was privately quite glad that Crowley hadn’t procured some in another, more dangerous way.)

All that being said, Aziraphale was more than glad to have Crowley in his life, especially at a time like this, with all the fighting in Europe. Weekend nights getting deliciously drunk with your best friend (who you might be in love with but let’s not talk about that) distracted Aziraphale sufficiently for a few hours and helped him avoid falling into a deep depression. (Angels didn’t usually get depressed, but Aziraphale had always been the exception to the rule, hadn’t he?)

Christmas came with less joy than usual for Aziraphale, but he tried to keep his spirits from falling too much. He decorated the shop as he had been doing for the past hundred years, but this year not even the angel on the top of the tree (which looked suspiciously like Crowley might have looked as an angel) could cheer him up. 

Aziraphale and Crowley had agreed to spend Christmas together, so around seven at night on the twenty-fifth, Crowley waltzed through the doors and Aziraphale pulled out one of his nicest bottles of wine. 

They drank, and Aziraphale ate a tray of Christmas cookies from his neighbor across the street. Aziraphale smiled and smiled and Crowley smiled back. The demon’s smiles had a hint of mischief about them, but Aziraphale wasn’t fazed, chalking it up to some temptation the wily serpent had performed. 

Aziraphale gifted Crowley a deep maroon waistcoat, consistent with the style of the time (a first for him, he noted proudly), and Crowely accepted it gratefully. Crowley didn’t have a gift for Aziraphale, but he did have a newspaper from that morning. (How Crowley had managed to procure a fresh newspaper on Christmas Day remained a mystery Aziraphale didn’t feel the need to solve.) Crowley pointed to the story on the front page and Aziraphale followed his finger from a sizeable picture of several soldiers to a headline that read: A CHRISTMAS TRUCE. Aziraphale looked up in confusion. 

“Is this about the war? Are those German uniforms?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Go on, read!”

Aziraphale tutted at Crowley’s refusal to share but settled himself comfortably and read the article.

_ An unofficial truce on Christmas day as described by an English soldier who writes:- “I will tell you about a thing that I couldn’t imagine happening till it did. We have actually met the Germans halfway between our trenches and exchanged cigarettes, buttons, etc.! On Christmas Eve we were shouting across to each other ‘A merry Christmas,” etc., and they shouted, ‘Don’t shoot till New Year’s Day’ and all that.” _

When he’d finished reading the rest of the article, Aziraphale realized he’d shed a few tears and went to wipe them away but his hand was stopped by Crowley’s. The demon dried his tears with a dark handkerchief and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek. “I wanted you to see the good in these dark times.”

This prompted a few more tears, but Crowley patiently dried them and then poured Aziraphale another glass of wine. (There were quite a few glasses of wine after that.)

As the evening drew to a close, Aziraphale found himself leaning over onto Crowley’s shoulder from his position next to the demon on the couch. Crowley scooted closer to him and Aziraphale’s heart soared. Maybe their relationship was really returning to the way it was before the fight. 

When the evening was over, Crowley was much too drunk to drive, or even miracle himself back to his flat, so the demon opted to spend the night on the bookshop sofa. Aziraphale spent the night reading Charles Dickens in his armchair, stealing glances at his sleeping friend and wondering if the demon had been the mysterious force behind the Christmas truce.

Around nine the next morning, abruptly and quite unpleasantly, Aziraphale was transported back to Heaven with a flash of bright light. The angel then found himself sitting in a hard, wooden chair in a white room that seemed like it expanded infinitely in all directions (it did). 

“Wh-what-what’s going on here?” Aziraphale spluttered. He tried to run his hand through his messy curls, but found his arms were miraculously stuck to the arm of his chair. Of course. This was Heaven, they didn’t just let you wave your arms around willy-nilly. 

Gabriel walked out from behind a desk and settled himself in front of Aziraphale, leaning up against the desk. 

“I think you know, Principality.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, sir. Gabriel, I have no idea why I’m sitting here. One minute I’m enjoying a nice book and the next I’m getting whisked away to Heaven.” He tactfully left out the bit about how there was a demon on the sofa next to him during these events. 

Gabriel humphed. “You really don’t know?” Aziraphale shook his head. “Well, you’re much denser than I previously believed.”

Aziraphale paled a bit. What on Earth could have happened to make Gabriel behave like this. Usually, the archangel would at least pretend to enjoy Aziraphale’s company, but now he was insulting Aziraphale bluntly like some kind of heathen. 

“Well,” Gabriel continued, “there has been a brief pause in Earth’s “Great War,” as they’re calling it, and we suspect you meddled with it. Probably in order to save  _ humans _ who were meant to be dead by now, according to the Great Plan.”

Aziraphale looked dumbstruck as Gabriel went on. “If you’re going to pretend to be incompetent, I suppose it may be prudent to explain exactly what happened. Two nights ago, on Christmas Eve, 1914."

Gabriel gave him another look, as if hearing which day was in question would jog Aziraphale's memory. Obviously, it did, but Aziraphale remained silent, waiting to see what Gabriel had to say about it. 

The archangel huffed and daintily, as if not wanting to get his hands dirty, picked up a newspaper from the desk beside him. 

“ _...It was the most extraordinary sight I have ever seen to see English and German soldiers shaking hands and exchanging cigars and cigarettes between the trenches...Not a shot was fired all day, and everybody walked about on top of the trenches. _ ”

Gabriel slammed the paper back on the desk and in the massive white room, made a much louder, echoey noise than Aziraphale was expecting. 

Aziraphale coughed. He had to play this carefully. “My goodness, well that’s the first I’d heard of that. So human of them to pause the fighting and enjoy a holiday together, is it not?”

Gabriel did the angelic version of a growl which came out as a mild hum, bt communicated the same message. “Aziraphale, I’ll ask you this only once. Did you or did you not perform a miracle to stop the fighting on Christmas Eve?”

“Yes- I mean no- I mean no I did not. Sorry, didn’t process the question properly.”

Gabriel was incredulous. “Didn’t  _ process _ properly? What are you, an angel or a fax machine?”

“What’s a fax machine?”

The archangel waved his hand. “Something we’re working on. Never mind. Anyway, point is, you claim you didn’t meddle in this war on Christmas or at any other time?”

Aziraphale found it strange to be in Heaven, being interrogated, and not lying at all. “Correct. I did not meddle in The Great War, Gabriel.”

“Hmm, alright then. Innocent until proven guilty. I  _ suppose _ . So you believe these humans actually stopped fighting to celebrate the birth of Christ?”

“I do,” Aziraphale lied. Throughout this conversation, he’d been considering deeply if he thought Crowley had paused the war ( _ for him _ , but that thought was quickly pushed aside for later), and he’d come to the conclusion that this event  _ was _ quite out of the ordinary and had Crowley’s name written all over it. If this event was upsetting enough to become a blip on Heaven’s radar, then it would surely be driving Hell mad, so Aziraphale couldn’t very well lead Gabriel to believe that  _ Crowley _ had performed the miracle either. No, that wouldn’t do. Hell wasn’t very merciful, after all, and he couldn’t let the love of his-  _ no, _ his best friend suffer. “I’ve no idea what compelled them, but sometimes those humans are ever so clever and peculiar, don’t you think?”

Gabriel humphed. “Well, you’re free to go.” 

With that, he vanished and Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief. He found his arms free from the chair and stood up. Feeling a bit shaky, he opted to take the stairs back down to earth instead of performing any less-than-precise miracles. Besides, this would give him time to think. Had Crowley really performed such a special miracle? And had it been for Aziraphale? As a Christmas present? Crowley always said he lacked the compassion it took to give gifts, and though Aziraphale knew that wasn’t true, he understood that the demon’s feelings were more easily expressed through gestures, rather than gifts. This was both a gesture and a gift, and more than Aziraphale could have asked for. 

Aziraphale didn’t return to his bookshop for several hours, instead taking a leisurely stroll about London. He felt more like smiling today than he had in some months and it was quite pleasant. The city seemed brighter somehow, though the day was cloudy. Throughout his walk, Aziraphale ignored the fact that the real reason he was walking aimlessly about was because he wanted to exist, if only briefly, in a world where Crowley cared for him, and thought of him, and made grand gestures again. 

He did have to return to reality at some point, and when he arrived back at the bookshop, he was delighted to see that Crowley was sprawled out on his sofa once again. Upon second glance, Aziraphale was less delighted to see that his best friend looked a right mess. He had soot all over his face and his hair was slicked back with sweat. 

“What happened to you Crowley, my dear?”

Crowley rolled himself to a sitting position and winced. “Sssame thing that happened to you, I’d guess. If a little less painfully.”

“You were called to Hell? Did they do this to you? Oh what a silly question. Of course they did. Damn it all, Crowley,” Aziraphale cried, and then he did the only think of to shut himself up: he scrambled a few steps forward, practically tackled Crowley, and kissed him with a fire he hadn’t known he possessed

Crowley froze for a moment and then quickly reciprocated, licking into Aziraphale’s mouth greedily. 

They remained like that for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, kissing and running their hands through each other’s hair. Crowley’s hair was damp, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. 

When Aziraphale finally broke the kiss, he gracelessly removed himself from Crowley’s lap and landed on the sofa beside him. Quite out of breath (though he didn’t need breath at all), he leaned over and deposited his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Um…” Crowley started, but apparently didn’t know where to go after that.

“Crowley? Did you do it?” Aziraphale paused and then quietly, “Did you do it for me?”

The demon was quite obviously trying very hard to keep himself together and seem nonchalant. “Yes,” he choked out, “all for you, angel. I’d do almost anyth- Yes, it was for you. I wanted to see you smile. You have such a wonderful smile.” He reached over and touched Aziraphale’s cheek that wasn’t on his shoulder. “Beautiful angel.”

“Crowley...do you...the war...and um, recent other events, uh, that is to say, are you in...with me?”

“Yes.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“Yes I do. And the answer is, yes. Irrevocably and irrepressibly, yes.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “That’s good to hear. I also...feel the same.”

Crowley turned his head away for a moment and Aziraphale could have sworn he heard a sniffle. “Angel, we can’t. Fuck, the things they would do to us if they found out. I want this so much, but we can’t.”

“I know,” murmured Aziraphale, holding back his own tears. He tried to keep the desperate hope out of his voice as he spoke. “Maybe someday things will be different.”

Crowley gently urged Aziraphale to pick up his head. “Angel, I have to go. I’ll see you, okay? Happy Christmas”

Aziraphale lost his battle with the tears and wiped one away as Crowley turned back to look at him. “Alright, my dear. I won’t stop you. Thank you for the miracle, Crowley. It made me smile. You make me smile, darling”

Crowley winced sadly at the pet name, “Don’t mention it. Please.” He headed for the door and turned back one last time. “Goodbye, angel. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Goodbye, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and when Crowley finally left, Aziraphale found he was able to contain his tears. Sure, his heart hurt deeply, but one didn’t live six thousand years without developing a strong heart. He would see Crowley again soon, and one day they would find a way to be together. He knew it. Thousands of years had already gone by in a flash. He could wait a few more to be with his demon. 

_ 2019 _

_ After the Apocalypse didn't happen and Crowley and Aziraphale were back in their own corporations, they went for dinner at the Ritz. They toasted to the world. And they talked about it. The elephant in the room, the only thing either of them had been thinking about for over a hundred years.  _

_ Aziraphale wiped his mouth daintily with his napkin. “Ah, Crowley? I want to tell you something. It’s something that I’ve been wishing I could say since 1914 when you performed that Christmas miracle, and since 1941 when you saved me and my books, and since the eighties when you sent me that ridiculous Valentine’s Day card- don’t deny it, that was definitely you- and every time I saw you after that. I’m in love with you Crowley. I have been for thousands of years. Your Christmas present that year only made me realize how much I wanted you. And I knew that you wanted me, even after our fight. So, there it is then: I love you and I hope you still love me.” _

_ When he finished, Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and looked over at Crowley whose eyes were shining with both tears and love.  _

_ “Oh, angel. I am so in love with you. Have been for ages. I’m glad one of my grand romantic gestures got your attention,” he said with a wink.  _

_ Aziraphale pretended to be outraged, all the while smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll have you know that I noticed it every time you were romantic, my dear, but I didn’t want to  _ embarrass _ you, you know, a demon having feelings is quite unbecoming in the eyes of Hell.” Aziraphale smiled. “But it’s ever so wonderful in my humble, angelic opinion.” _

_ “Mhm, stellar, darling,” Crowley grumbled (well, as much as one could grumble when they were grinning, vibrating in their seat and restlessly folding their napkin into an origami angel).  _

_ Aziraphale rolled his eyes and blushed at the endearment. “Come on, love. Let’s go home. Together.” _

_ Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed it. ‘“Together.” _

**Author's Note:**

> The first newspaper article was originally printed in the Liverpool Daily Post on December 31, 1914 and the second article was originally printed in the Gloucester Journal on January 2, 1915.


End file.
